Grandma & Santa

"I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my bigsister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Evendummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her thatday because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma alwaystold the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole loteasier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. Iknew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I toldher everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around foryears, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let'sgo." "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my secondworld-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in townthat had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked throughit's doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in thosedays. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone whoneeds it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked outof Kerby's. I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with mymother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.

The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finishtheir Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused,clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earthto buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, myneighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I wasjust about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He wasa kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs.Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew thatbecause he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother alwayswrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all the kidsknew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he had no coat. I fingeredthe ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker acoat!

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked realwarm, and he would like that. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?"the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down."Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The nice lady smiled atme. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished mea Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper andribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it inher Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma saidthat Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to BobbyDecker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street fromBobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes byhis front walk.

Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered,"get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw thepresent down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to thesafety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly inthe darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stoodBobby. Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, Irealized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just whatGrandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and wewere on his team. I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside:$19.95"